


Drop

by SymbioticAntithesis



Series: Yours to Command [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Sex, Barebacking, D/s, Deep Throating, Dom/sub, Emotional Sex, Established Relationship, Future Fic, Implied Switching, Knotting, M/M, Oral Sex, Safe Sane and Consensual, Topping from the Bottom, dom!stiles, face fucking (sort of), slight AU, sub!derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-23
Updated: 2014-10-23
Packaged: 2018-02-22 04:25:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2494361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SymbioticAntithesis/pseuds/SymbioticAntithesis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek needs to let go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drop

**Author's Note:**

> So instead of working on my FBI Sterek AU, I ended up writing emotional D/s Sterek. Oops?
> 
> Also, the tag 'established relationship' implies that Stiles and Derek already know each other's safe words/gestures. That's why they don't discuss it before they start.

They stumble into their apartment a little worse for wear and out of breath but alive. Still alive.  Stiles makes his way to the couch and strips off his hoodie, a soft hiss escaping him, and lifts his shirt gingerly to check the gash on his side. Derek comes over and splays his hand over Stiles’ stomach and the sharp pain recedes to a numbing ache.

“Thanks,” he murmurs before he strips his shirt off, too.  It’s bloody and filthy and god knows what else, and tosses it aside.  They’ll take care of it tomorrow. 

“Stiles,” Derek says, and Stiles looks at him.  Derek has dirt smudges on his cheeks but otherwise looks unharmed, his accelerated healing already taking care of any scrapes he may have gotten, but he’s trembling; Stiles can feel the almost imperceptible shivers through Derek’s palm that’s still flat against his abdomen.  His eyes are wide with a helplessness Stiles recognizes, full of grief and desperation. Stiles knows that look, and his spine straightens, his shoulders square.  He takes Derek’s wrist and pulls his hand away from his body, brings them up to his lips and places light kisses against Derek’s fingertips.

“Okay.”  He stands and limps to the bedroom, tugging Derek along behind him. There’s harsh tension in Derek’s muscles, he can tell in the way he walks and how his wrist is rigid in his grasp. He understands – understands too well – and intends to leech all of the stress from Derek in a way they both know works better than anything either of them has ever tried.

They don’t play often, hadn’t even realized that they needed it, _wanted_ and _craved_ it until several months after their relationship turned sexual, but when they do it’s always as intense and exhilarating as the first time.  It’s not only a way to release tension, but it’s also a way to reinforce the profound trust they have in each other.  Because neither of them would submit nor dominate someone if there isn’t complete faith in the other.

Tonight, Derek needs to let go, needs someone else in control.  He may not be Alpha anymore, but sometimes the decision making fell on his shoulders and it’s not always easy.  Stiles knows of the emotional toll it takes on Derek when his choices go awry, and tonight – especially after tonight’s fiasco – is no different.

Stiles lets Derek go once they’re in the bedroom and he sits on the edge of the bed, legs parted enough to accommodate Derek’s bulk.  “C’mere,” he orders, beckoning Derek over.  He obeys, and hovers in front of him.  “Kneel. Hands on my knees.” Derek does and keeps eye contact with Stiles.  He sees Derek’s expression start to ease and his heart swells at the trust Derek puts in him. It still overwhelms him sometimes, what Derek allows him to see, do, _feel_. Arousal pools at the pit of his stomach, and he feels his dick start to fill with anticipation.

“You’re not allowed to speak,” he says, “Until I say the word.  Understand?”

Derek nods and his shoulders relax a little more.  Stiles runs the pad of his thumb down Derek’s cheek, relishing the scratch of stubble against his finger, rests it right at the dip under Derek’s lip.  A gentle press and Derek parts them, raises his chin to expose his throat in willing compliance.  Stiles lets out an appreciative sound and brings his other hand to the back of Derek’s head, burying his fingers in his hair, and tugs so Stiles can rake his eyes down Derek’s neck.  Keeping his grip firm and steady in Derek’s hair, Stiles uses his free hand to trace his fingers from Derek’s lips down his chin, across his Adam’s apple to his clavicle. He wraps his fingers around Derek’s throat and squeezes, feels Derek shudder, his grip on Stiles’ knees tightening.

Stiles releases Derek’s throat and loosens his hold in his hair, just enough so Derek can look him in the eye again.  He manages to unbutton his jeans with one hand and guides Derek closer to his crotch. “Unzip me.” Derek leans forward and obeys, taking the zipper in between his teeth, pulls it down slow. “Good,” Stiles says, massaging Derek’s scalp in reward.  Derek makes a soft noise in contentment, and Stiles’ cock twitches in eagerness.

He presses Derek closer, keeps him there, knows that Derek loves to take in his scent.  Derek’s hot breaths against his arousal send sparks of pleasure up and down his spine, makes Stiles drag his hand down to rest at the nape of Derek’s neck, squeezing at the pressure points there.  Derek groans and leans further into him, and Stiles smiles.

“Take me out,” he commands, leaning back a little.  “You may use your hands, but put them back when you’re done.”

Derek flicks his gaze up to him with the barest glimmer of amusement.  Stiles raises an eyebrow, though he’s grinning down at Derek, unabashed. Derek brings his hands to the band of Stiles’ jeans and tugs, Stiles lifting his butt off the mattress to help Derek get them down his hips.  His boxer-briefs follow, and his cock springs free, erect and already leaking. He sees Derek stare with avid attention even as he pulls Stiles’ jeans and underwear further down his thighs, just enough for Derek to have ample access.  Derek places his hands back on Stiles’ knees and Stiles rubs his neck again in recompense.

“Get me off,” he says. “No hands.”  Derek’s fingers flex around his knees.  “Just your mouth.”  Derek nods and shuffles forward, leans in again, Stiles’ hand still at the base of his neck. Stiles watches as Derek laps at his precome, runs his tongue down his shaft, suckles his balls. He nips and licks at what he can reach of Stiles’ inner thighs, dips his tongue into Stiles’ slit, traces the vein of his cock with his teeth.  Derek takes his time, and Stiles lets him.  He didn’t specify how fast he had to make him come; that decision, at least, he gave to Derek.  Besides, there’s just as much exhilaration and pleasure in foreplay, and he knows Derek will get him to climax.

Stiles bites back a moan when Derek finally takes him in his mouth, the wet heat that engulfs him making his eyes flutter shut.  Derek swirls his tongue around his head, which elicits a whimper, and Stiles clenches his fingers against Derek’s neck.  He takes in more and sucks, retreats and does it again.  “God, you’re doing so well,” he says.

Derek hums and Stiles curses as the vibrations send shocks of pleasure through his dick. Stiles moves his hand back into Derek’s hair, and guides Derek lower, making him take more.  Derek complies and opens up for him, relaxes his throat until Stiles feels Derek swallow around him.  He starts to move Derek’s head into a rhythm, slow at first, then faster and in earnest, fucking him onto his cock.  Derek moans around him, his grip on Stiles’ knees steady and firm. There’s saliva dribbling down to the base of cock, down his balls, but Derek’s mouth is hot and wet around him, the suction and pressure amazing.

“I’m gonna come down your throat,” Stiles pants.  “You’re gonna swallow all of it.”

Derek keens. Stiles can’t last much longer; Derek’s teasing has brought him to the brink and Stiles wants Derek to feel him, _taste_ him. He slows his movements, lifts Derek’s head until only the tip of his cock is still in his mouth, then with slow deliberation makes Derek takes him all in.  Derek goes, opens himself obediently and gulps him down. Stiles groans, his lips parted in sheer bliss, his eyes half lidded, as he feels Derek’s throat work him, sees himself disappear into Derek’s mouth.

He presses Derek further into his crotch, Derek’s muscles flutter around him, and Stiles throws his head back and comes with a shuddering gasp.  Stiles holds him there, can feel Derek swallow around him as he does his best to drink him all in, his grip on Stiles’ knees almost painful, but still steady and unyielding. He hears Derek breathe heavy and slow through his nose as Stiles gasps through the aftershocks of his orgasm. He brings his free hand to stroke Derek’s cheekbones while the other rubs absently at the nape of his neck. When his tremors subside, he eases Derek up, flinching a little at his oversensitivity.  There’s a dribble of come that Derek’s missed, and Stiles catches it with a finger.  Derek turns his head and sucks him in without question, licking him clean. His lips are red and swollen and Stiles wants nothing more than to taste himself on Derek’s tongue.

“C’mere,” he says when he has his breathing under control.  He guides Derek up with the hand cradling his neck and kisses him, sloppy and wet and passionate.  “You’re so good,” he says, lapping at Derek’s lips.  “So good to me.”  Derek whimpers and Stiles pulls him in and clutches him close, devouring him with unbridled fervor. He presses his legs against Derek’s sides, bracketing him in, feels each breath Derek takes, feels that he’s still trembling but for an entirely different reason from before. When he breaks away, they’re both breathless and wanting.  Stiles’ dick twitches with renewed interest, but it’ll take several more minutes before he’s at full hardness again.

“Take off your clothes,” he orders, “And get on the bed, back to the headboard, arms to your sides.” He gives Derek a lingering kiss before he nudges him so he can stand and pulls Derek up with him. “Don’t move until I come back.” He runs his hand from the back of Derek’s neck down his chest, to his hips, brushes against the obvious bulge in Derek’s pants, and relishes the shiver it evokes. Stiles takes a step back and watches for a moment as Derek starts to strip off his clothes, but once Derek reaches for the button of his jeans, Stiles knows that he better leave before he gets distracted.

Stiles turns away from the entrancing sight of his lover’s bare skin and heads to the bathroom, hitching his jeans up so he can walk without tripping over them.  He turns on the light and closes the door with a soft click. Once he’s alone, he heaves out a breath, allows his shoulders to relax.  He lets his pants and underwear fall to the floor, kicks them away and glances at the mirror.

He doesn’t look as bad as he thought he did.  His hair’s messy, as per usual, and there are a few small cuts on his cheeks from running through the underbrush. The gash on his side, however, is an angry red and there’s still a steady ooze of blood trickling down his waist. He winces at the sight; Derek may have taken away the pain, but he needs to clean and bind his wound before it gets infected, before he goes back to Derek.

Stiles rummages through the cabinets and pulls out their first aid kit; they stash several around the apartment for this exact purpose.  He gets to work on sterilizing the cut, grateful that he can’t feel the pain from the disinfectant. When the blood is cleared away, he takes out gauze and bandages and starts to wrap it around his torso. It’s rudimentary and nowhere near up to standard (Melissa would rip him a new one if she knew how blasé he’s being about it), but it will do until the morning, until he has the time and energy to worry about it.  Once the dressing is secure, he inspects the rest of his body, making sure he doesn’t have another scrape somewhere he’s unaware of.

There isn’t any, and he breathes a sigh of relief; one more scar was one too many.

Stiles braces his hands against the counter and leans into it, tries to clear his mind, center his breathing. He needs to be at his best for Derek tonight; needs it just as much as Derek does.

Because . . .

Because there were hunters in Beacon Hills. 

Though Chris Argent had attempted to reason with them that the McCall-Hale pack were no danger to the community, they still threatened them, shot Scott with a bullet laced with a new and unknown strain of wolfsbane.  Neither Chris nor Deaton knew of a cure, and the hunters were uncooperative enough that even Chris couldn’t condone them.  Derek, as Scott’s second-in-command, had to make a choice: negotiate in hopes that the hunters would hand over the cure to save Scott in time or take the cure by force.  He chose the latter; Scott didn’t _have_ time and no one in the pack wanted to risk their Alpha’s life.  It led to Malia near death, Stiles and Kira injured, Lydia reeling from using her powers, and Scott disoriented but alive.  Even if they managed to cure Scott and drive the hunters out of Beacon Hills with a tentative pact and a promise that neither the pack nor Chris would be so lenient next time, the repercussions hit Derek hard.

And through it all, _despite it_ , Derek turns to Stiles for solace.

It’s amazing and overwhelming and terrifying how much he and Derek have grown to depend on each other over the years, and it’s not just having each other’s back in a fight, or even romantically, but _emotionally_. When Derek needs to relinquish his control, the only person he trusts enough to not take advantage of his vulnerability is Stiles.  And sometimes Stiles needs a reminder that he’s _human_ and is occasionally idiotic and needs to remember how to obey.

They are each other’s anchor, and they both know it.

He takes another deep breath and straightens.  It’s time to go back.

Stiles opens the door and turns off the light, makes his way back to the bedroom stark naked. He pauses at the doorway and admires the view, a small, pleased smile on his lips, feels himself start to harden again. Derek’s exactly where he wants him to be, nude on their bed, his cock still hard and dripping against his stomach. He’s sitting against the headboard as Stiles commanded with his arms off to his sides, several of their pillows propped up behind him.  Stiles knows that Derek’s aware that he’s back, but the werewolf doesn’t show it. He keeps his head low even as Stiles pads over to the nightstand to fish out a bottle of lube.

With lube in hand, he crawls onto the bed and kneels between Derek’s legs.  “You’re gorgeous,” he says.  Derek flicks his gaze up and Stiles sees a disparate mixture of pleased and shy. He moves closer and cups the side of Derek’s face, brings his head up so they have eye contact, rubs mindless circles with his thumb on Derek’s cheekbone.  “You’re gorgeous,” he repeats into the air between them, as their breaths intermingle.  He brings Derek in for a kiss, slow and gentle and consuming.  Stiles lets his hands roam across Derek’s broad shoulders, down his chest, to his waist and hips.  He runs his fingers up Derek’s neck, down his arms, teases his lower abdomen just above his arousal.  Derek shudders under his caresses, breathes little gasps of pleasure and desire into his mouth. He wants to touch, Stiles knows, can feel the barely contained wolf clawing for freedom under Derek’s skin.

Stiles decides then that he wants Derek to knot him.  They don’t knot often, either, but it’s not from lack of want.  He supposes it’s because sometimes the situation isn’t right for it.  Knotting took time and preparation – before, during, and after – and oftentimes they, Stiles will admit, are more preoccupied with the endgame.  But Stiles loves it when Derek knots him, loves that Derek shares something so intimate with him and him alone.  They rarely scene _and_ knot, but when they do it’s always incredible; Stiles feels like it reinforces their bond tenfold. 

And tonight, tonight he thinks they both need it.

Stiles breaks the kiss and moves to straddle Derek’s thighs.  Derek lifts a hand to help steady him, but Stiles slaps him away. “Did I say you could touch?” he demands. Derek ducks his head, shakes it, and puts his hand back on the bed, fingers clenched.  “Good boy,” he says, threading his fingers through Derek’s hair for a moment.  “I want you to watch me open myself up,” he continues.  “No moving, or I might change my mind on letting you knot me tonight.” It’s a lie, and Derek knows it, but Stiles sees Derek’s breath hitch, his entire body spasm in delighted shock, and he gives Stiles a curt nod, both hands now fisting the sheets.

He grabs a pillow and sits between Derek’s legs, adjusts himself and scoots forward so his own legs are on either side of Derek’s hips, their crotches almost touching. His thighs rest on Derek’s, and he takes the pillow and shoves it under his hips.  He leans back, spreading his legs wider to expose himself. He grabs the lube and squirts a liberal amount on his fingers, warms it, circles his entrance with them.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he says, and pushes two fingers in at once.  He gasps and bites his lip, pumps them in and out.  Stiles adjusts quickly to the intrusion and adds another, searches for his prostate and –

He curses and lets his head fall back against the mattress, wraps his fingers around his now erect cock. Stiles works himself with languid strokes, presses his fingers against his prostate, and he moans long and wanton.

Derek makes a noise, a plaintive sound, and Stiles looks to him and sees Derek’s gaze is fixed on his fingers as Stiles stretches himself for him, his eyes dark with lust and desire. “You want me?” he asks as he pushes his fingers deeper.  Derek makes another noise, desperate and needy.  He smirks and closes his eyes, ignores Derek for a few moments longer, takes his time opening himself up.  It’s necessary if he intends to take Derek’s knot.

He presses in a fourth and after a couple more minutes, he contemplates adding his thumb, but decides they’ve both waited long enough and pulls his fingers out.  He opens his eyes and sees Derek looking pained, his arms trembling from keeping himself from touching Stiles.  Stiles will rectify that soon, too.

He sits up and grabs the bottle of lube again and squirts more on his palm, reaches out and coats Derek’s dick without preamble.  Derek flinches and groans at the cool sensation of the lube against his heated skin. Stiles heaves himself forward and aligns his slick hole with Derek’s cock.  He gives Derek a deep and meaningful kiss and says, “I want you, too.” Then, with slow deliberation, he lowers himself onto Derek.  They both moan as Stiles slides down, and Derek grunts when he bottoms out, his lips parted, red and glistening with spit.

Stiles wraps his arms around Derek’s neck, buries his fingers in his hair, rocks his hips. Derek whimpers, and Stiles places soft, open-mouth kisses on his forehead, his cheeks, his lips. He tugs Derek’s head back to expose his neck and dives in to nip and suck at his throat, sets his teeth against his jugular. Derek hisses and Stiles sees an abortive movement in his peripheral as Derek prevents himself from touching, from disobeying, though he yearns for contact.  _Soon_ , Stiles thinks, he’ll give in to what they both crave.  Derek compensates by rolling his hips up to meet Stiles’, creating a consistent and tantalizing burn.  Stiles smiles against Derek’s neck, leaves wet lingering kisses as he rides Derek slow. He wants to drag out their lovemaking for as long as he can, until they’re both delirious with desire.

In the meantime, Stiles praises Derek with feather light caresses, whispers his adoration against Derek’s skin, breathes his devotion against Derek’s lips until the steady friction is just on the verge of _not enough_. Stiles knows what they both need to tip them over, knows what they both want since they started the scene.

“Touch me,” he says, and Derek’s hands fly.  They’re suddenly everywhere: running down his back, gripping his hips, dragging through his hair, kneading his ass, stroking his chest and abdomen.  He’s careful, so careful, when his fingers skim the bandages on his side.  His touch electrifies him, and Stiles bucks into Derek hard causing them both to gasp. Stiles feels the telltale spark of an impending orgasm and he grinds against Derek faster. He’s so worked up from the slow burn of their lovemaking that Stiles knows it’s not going to take much for him to tip over.

Derek finally rests his hands on Stiles’ hips and Stiles leans in, asks in a whisper, “Gonna make me come again, Derek?”  Derek nips at his throat and Stiles gives him access, lets Derek mark him.  “I want to come with your knot inside me, want you to feel what you do to me,” he says against the shell of Derek’s ear. He feels Derek shiver, feels his fingers dig into his hips, hard enough to bruise; Stiles hopes for it.

The base of Derek’s cock starts to swell, and Stiles fucks himself harder, faster, until his breath is coming in short helpless pants.  He brings their mouths together in a sloppy kiss, all tongue and no finesse, just desperation and lust. 

“Knot me, Derek,” he gasps against his lips.  “Let go.”

Derek whines, high and anguished as he pulls Stiles’ hips closer – so close – and Stiles feels Derek’s burgeoning knot nudge at his entrance.  Stiles shoves himself down, fast and hard, and they both cry out when Derek breaches him. Derek clutches at him and Stiles grinds down, moaning as Derek’s knot stretches him, perfect and full.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he chokes out.  A few more rolls of his hips and Stiles is coming over their stomachs, hot and messy. Derek rocks into him, whimpering, holding Stiles against him like he’s a lifeline.  When Derek comes, Stiles feels every pulse deep inside him, feels how Derek’s arms quiver around him, feels how Derek presses his teeth against his clavicle as the sensations overwhelm him.  It leaves Stiles breathless. 

He drags his nails against Derek’s scalp down to his neck and Derek shudders against him. Stiles hums in contentment and places an absent kiss on Derek’s ear, massages the pressure points at the base of Derek’s neck, soothes him with wordless praise as he eases Derek through his orgasm.  “You okay?” he asks when Derek starts to rub mindless circles on his hips. “You may speak now,” he adds belatedly.

Derek huffs and kisses up his neck, drags his cheek against his leaving Stiles’ skin tingling from his scruff, captures his lips in a deep and passionate kiss.  Stiles lets himself drown in it, lets all the love and trust engulf him in a warm embrace, feels himself bursting with emotion.  He supposes they don’t need words for this.  When Derek breaks the kiss, they’re both trembling. 

“I love you,” Stiles blurts, the urge to say the words overcoming him.  It’s not the first time either of them said it, but they both rather show each other in the little things they did.

Derek smiles, kisses him again, soft and gentle.  “I love you, too,” he says, his voice hoarse from disuse.

Stiles sighs and slumps against him, lets himself burrow deeper into Derek’s heat.  He feels Derek also start to sag against the headboard and pillows, into the mattress.  “You okay?” he asks again.  The scene was intense and he really hopes that he managed to banish Derek’s doubt and tension.

“Yes,” he says, nuzzles his neck. “I will be.  Thank you.”

Stiles nods and kisses him behind his ear.  “Good.” He shifts a little, grunts when Derek’s knot jostles inside him.  “You comfortable?” he asks, and Derek nods against his shoulder, holds him closer, traces random patterns on the small of his back. “Okay.”

“You?” he asks.

Stiles rubs his cheek against Derek’s, loving the sensation of Derek’s beard on his skin, kisses the tip of his ear, pets his arm distractedly.  “I’m okay.” 

Derek tightens his hold around his waist, relaxes further as they settle in to wait for Derek’s knot to subside. “Okay.”


End file.
